


New

by mistyzeo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-23
Packaged: 2018-10-16 01:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: for the thegameison_sh first challenge.





	

“What’s that?” John asks, putting down the bags of shopping and indicating the box on the table with a nod of his head.  
  
Sherlock says nothing, typical, hunched over John’s laptop in a way that’s going to ruin his back, not that he cares. John unloads the groceries into the cupboards, pushing aside a jar that might have a hand in it (he’d be sure if he took the time to look, which he doesn’t), throws out the milk that’s gone bad, and considers what to make for dinner.  
  
“Phone,” Sherlock says finally, almost five minutes after John’s asked the question and two minutes since he’s forgotten he even asked.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“On the table,” Sherlock clarifies with a sigh. “New phone.”  
  
“I thought your phone was fine,” John says, pulling two boxes of pasta out.  
  
“New phone for you, John,” Sherlock says. He uses John’s name like an insult, and John resists the urge to made a rude gesture.  
  
“My phone is also fine,” he says instead, turning around. Sherlock’s looking up from the keyboard finally, looking a bit worn. He’s had no breakthrough on his current case in four days, and John hasn’t had a lot of time to help him out. Besides, Sherlock’s waved off his attempts at offering help, so he stopped offering yesterday and put his energy towards keeping Sherlock fed, more or less.  
  
“Your sister and Clara are getting back together,” Sherlock says, apropos of nothing.  
  
“What?” John has to put the pot of water down. “How did you know that?”  
  
“Your phone.”  
  
“You’re being purposefully difficult.”  
  
Sherlock cracks a smile, corner of his mouth turning up, and he unfolds from the chair and stretches his back with his arms over his head. Then he crosses the sitting room into the kitchen and crowds John by the hob. He puts his arms around John’s waist and his chin on John’s shoulders and watches the water boil. “You’ve been getting all nostalgic over your phone lately,” he says, “that’s all. It’s not broken or cracked, but it’s still on the way out. Harry must have gotten a new phone when she gave hers to you, but now that she’s seeing Clara again she wants it back. I doubt she’ll think of giving you the old new one, so I got you one instead.”  
  
“Oh,” John says. He pushes off the edge of the counter and digs in his jeans pocket for the phone with Harry’s name on it. Sherlock’s right, of course. He got a text four days ago with an update on their relationship status: they’re doing great, Harry’s keeping a toothbrush at Clara’s again, and would he mind parting with the phone some time soon. John navigates his way to the message and holds it up so Sherlock can see it, and Sherlock makes a little noise of satisfaction and removes himself from John’s back.  
  
“Like I said,” he says, going back into the sitting room, “I got you a new phone.” He comes back sooner than John expected, pressing the box into his hands, and John opens it over the kitchen counter.  
  
It’s sleek and shiny in his hands, slimmer and lighter than Harry’s phone. It’ll fit better in his pocket, actually. It’s got a hard plastic case, the better for the abuse it will take as Sherlock’s sidekick’s sidekick, and when John glances up Sherlock has a peculiarly apprehensive look on his face.  
  
“Thanks,” John says, honestly pleased. Sherlock’s smile returns, tired and relieved. John touches his cheek briefly, long enough for Sherlock to tilt into the caress. “You eating today?”  
  
“Yes,” Sherlock breathes. “Fairly starving.”  
  
“There was food in the cupboards earlier,” John reminds him.  
  
“Boring,” Sherlock says with a flourish, turning to sit at the kitchen table. He has to move four books on epidemiology to sit down, but then he sprawls elegantly to watch John cook, arms and legs akimbo. He’s already looking better, and John bites back a grin as he turns back to the pot on the hob.  
  
Later, when they’re both crammed onto the sofa and Sherlock has his legs in John’s lap and John’s laptop in his own, he looks over the top of it and says, “Send a text for me.”  
  
John pulls out the new phone, fumbling to find the Send Message option, and Sherlock’s half-hidden smile is brighter than anything John’s seen all day.


End file.
